


In My Arms Again

by Nebula5030



Series: Winter Ficlets 2019 [11]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Hopeful Ending, Implied/Referenced Homelessness, M/M, Modern Era, Post-Canon, Reincarnation AU, Reunions, referenced character death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-14
Updated: 2019-01-14
Packaged: 2019-10-10 04:44:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17419307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nebula5030/pseuds/Nebula5030
Summary: Spending New Year’s working at the local soup kitchen had been a tradition in Percy’s family for as long as he could remember.But another thing that had been happening for as long as he could remember were his dreams.





	In My Arms Again

**Author's Note:**

> My ninth ficlet for [Pendragons Company Winter in Camelot Rarepair Ficlet and Art fest](https://pendragonsandco-winterholidays.tumblr.com/)  
>  ~~Yes, I know the rules said eight. But I spoke with a mod and they said it was fine if I submitted one more lol~~
> 
> _Reincarnation AU: It's been 1500 years since Camelot, but Person A only remembers through their dreams and believes their memories of Camelot to just be some fantastic story made up by their brain._  
>  _It's the holiday season, and they decide to volunteer at a soup kitchen on [holiday of choice], expecting it to be a calm day._  
>  _But in walks Person B, just how Person A remembers from their dreams_

Spending New Year’s working at the local soup kitchen had been a tradition in Percy’s family for as long as he could remember.

As he wiped down the counter with a rag, he could hear his parents talking in the back as they cooked, his brothers’ voices intermingling with the patrons, and his sister next to him talking with the other volunteers. He himself just listening and enjoying his work.

Though sometimes he wished he _did_ talk some more, because when he didn’t, his mind was left to wander…

And wander it did.

For another thing that had been happening for as long as Percy could remember were his dreams.

Dreams of a life that started as a farmer with his family – his brothers and sister (though Diane’s name had been Dindrane, oddly enough) and parents – until an army dressed in black came with flames and steel, and took them all from him.

(The first time he’d had that dream, he’d been twelve. His mother had held him for half the night after, and it’d taken months before he’d managed to sleep without fear of the same images of death returning.)

But then the dreams turned to him in a castle – a knight with a red cloak, following a king with golden hair and a new family around him.

And a man by his side – a man with warm brown eyes and beautiful laughter…

Until he too was taken from him, taking his last breaths in Percy’s arms.

Percy sighed, and shook his head to clear it from the images of his dreams.

They were just that, after all – dreams, and nothing more. He turned back to the counter that he’d inadvertently been ignoring for the last few minutes, and began listening to the crowd once more.

Percy suddenly heard boisterous laughter carrying over the sounds of the room -

\- and he froze.

He didn’t move, just listening with wide eyes.

_That laugh –_

“Hey!” Sudden fingers snapped in front of his eyes, and Percy jolted from his stupor to find Diane looking at him with a concerned look. “You alright?” she asked.

Percy nodded, before he set down his rag – why were his hands shaking so much? “Yeah. Fine. I just… I need to check something.”

Percy turned before Diane could respond, leaving his sister sputtering after him.

Listening to the cacophony of the soup kitchen Percy kept his ears primed, trying to pick out a single sound – a single _voice_ – from the crowd.

He rounded and group of patrons.

And he stopped.

There was a man with his back to Percy standing across the room. His clothes were well-used, a bag over one shoulder, and dark brown hair falling from under his knitted hat to between his shoulder blades.

That build, that _posture –_

“… Gwaine?”

The man turned sharply, and Percy’s breath caught.

He was Percy’s age, with soft curls framing his face and deep brown eyes. His beard was longer than Percy expected, but there was no denying who it was.

It was _him_ – it was –

Gwaine’s eyes widened. _“… Percival?”_

Neither of them moved for a moment, before Gwaine was suddenly taking slow step towards Percy.

Gwaine’s eyes flicked over him in obvious shock and disbelief. But when he was close enough, Gwaine slowly reached out a hand – shaking violently – and he put it to Percy’s face.

Percy nearly melted at the touch, at the fact Gwaine’s skin was _warm,_ unlike when he’d last touched it – when he’d last squeezed Gwaine’s cold hands, before stepping away and allowing the funeral pyre to be lit.

Gwaine was _here,_ he was _alive._

But before Percy could even say anything, Gwaine lunged forward and embraced Percy tight in a hug. “Hey, Percival,” he said.

Percy’s breath hitched, but then he had his arms around Gwaine and was holding Gwaine tight to him. “You have no idea how good it is to see you,” Percy said, voice breaking.

Gwaine let out a watery laugh. “I think I have a pretty good idea.”

Percy laughed as well, not caring as his eyes began to brim, and not caring if anyone was staring at the two of them. Gwaine was back with him, and that was more than Percy had ever wanted.

“I’m never letting you go again, little man.”

And if Gwaine began to cry as well, well, that was just between him and Percy.

“You’ll never need to, big man.”


End file.
